Dranred played as the team's starting pitcher until the fifth inning. During those five innings, not a single run or even a hit was made against him. The exhibition game finally ended in the tenth inning, with Charlie's team winning 10–1.
During the post-game interview, Charlie praised the national team's spirit and potential.
"They have raw talent," he said. "They're underdeveloped, but if they keep training, I don't doubt they can return to international play."
Then, out of nowhere, a reporter turned to Dranred.
"Was this performance influenced by your loss in the basketball finals? Some people are wondering if you're considering switching careers."
The question caught everyone's attention.
The reporter went on, "You've shown remarkable skill as a pitcher, Dranred. If you joined the national team, I believe you'd go far."
Dranred didn't respond right away. He only smiled faintly, unsure how to answer.
Before he could speak, Charlie stepped in.
"He was just a guest for this exhibition game," Charlie said firmly. "I invited him, and he was kind enough to lend us his talent. His performance here has nothing to do with the basketball finals, and it certainly doesn't mean he's switching careers."
Charlie's tone silenced further questions. But by the next morning, Dranred's guest appearance was already making headlines across television and social media.
Clips of his flawless pitches circulated online. Sports anchors marveled at his control and grace on the mound. Supporters praised him for showing his versatility — yet others began to question why his performance here was so much stronger than it had been in the finals.
"How could a basketball star pitch like that?"
"Maybe baseball was always his true calling."
"Where was that focus when the Phoenix needed him most?"
The chatter didn't stop there.
Meanwhile, in the Christopher's household, the television played a sports segment replaying highlights of Dranred's exhibition match. Estelle and James sat on the couch, silently watching the broadcast.
"How's Rosette?" James asked quietly. It was the first word he had spoken in a while.
Since their argument the night before, Rosette hadn't left her room. She refused to eat, wouldn't answer Estelle, and didn't speak to James at all.
"You know you shouldn't have done that," Estelle finally said, breaking the silence.
James sighed, leaning forward and rubbing his temples. "I know. And I regret it. I just… lost control."
Estelle reached for the small envelope on the table — the one Dranred had given her. She placed it carefully in front of James.
"Before you get mad again," she said, "please just listen to me first."
James recognized it immediately. The same envelope. The same one Dranred had once given him.
"I don't think his intentions are bad," Estelle continued softly. "This is an opportunity — for Rosette to see again. Even if you still hate him, don't deny her this chance just because of your pride."
James was silent for a moment, staring at the envelope.
"It's not easy," he said finally. "It's not easy to accept help from him."
"I know," Estelle said gently. "But you also know he's capable of doing something that could truly help her."
James closed his eyes briefly, then stood and picked up the envelope.
"I'll think about it," he said quietly, before walking toward his room.
Estelle watched him go, relief and worry blending in her chest. She turned back to the television — another replay of Dranred's pitching performance — before standing and heading to Rosette's room.
Inside, she turned on the small TV near the bedside table. The screen flickered to life, showing Dranred standing on the mound, smiling faintly as the crowd cheered.
Rosette lay quietly under the sheets, still turned toward the window. The soft sound of rain had begun to fall outside, steady and calm.
Estelle didn't say anything. She just sat beside her sister and listened — to the patter of rain, the muted cheers from the TV, and the faint, aching strum of Rosette's guitar as her trembling fingers began to play.
To Estelle, it was the saddest melody her sister had ever played — each note soaked in longing, regret, and unspoken pain. Outside, the sky cried with her, as if sharing her sorrow.
Rosette lay on her bed, her eyes still swollen from crying through the night. The room was dim, the curtains half drawn, and the soft murmur of the television filled the silence.
Estelle walked quietly to her sister's bedside and sat down beside her.
"Rosette, please don't keep sulking like this," she said gently. "You'll make yourself sick. I talked to James — he's sorry for what he did."
Rosette didn't answer right away. Instead, her gaze remained fixed on the TV screen where a baseball game was playing. The moment she heard Dranred's name mentioned by the commentators, her posture subtly changed — her eyes flickered with faint surprise, even a spark of life.
"Can you turn up the volume?" she asked softly.
Estelle smiled, a little taken aback. "Does that mean we're okay again?"
Rosette turned to her with a small smile. "I was never angry at you."
Hearing that, Estelle immediately threw her arms around her sister.
"Estelle— I can't breathe!" Rosette complained, laughing weakly.
"Oh! Sorry," Estelle said, quickly letting go, grinning. "I'm just so happy."
"The volume," Rosette reminded her, trying not to smile.
"Right, right!" Estelle laughed and turned up the sound.
From the doorway, James stood silently watching them. He wanted to approach, to say something, but shame held him back.
As Rosette listened to the live broadcast, she couldn't help but feel her heart lighten. Hearing Dranred's name, watching him play again — it stirred something deep within her. Despite all the pain, she couldn't deny it: the boy who once stood by her side still had that same unshakable grace, both on the court and now on the field.
And somehow, even through the screen, it made her believe — just a little — that things could begin to heal.